The White King
by Churro-Dragon
Summary: 'The Kingdom of Prussia' is long gone, but he clings to the name, because names are important. Sometimes he thinks he should be more sad, but it's the everyday surprises that keep him going.


The veteran at the park boasts he hasn't lost at chess since 1941. Prussia takes that as a challenge, even though he hasn't played since he lost a round to Turkey in 1889. He asks the old man if he wants to play.

"Thanks," he says, but explains he lost his white king in the park a few days ago.

"Game's not the same without it." The king was part of a handcrafted set he'd held onto since the war. "I'm afraid absentmindedness comes with age."

"I'll keep an eye out for it" says Prussia. The old man laughs softly.

—

When Germany comes home from work, he immediately tells Prussia to get off the computer.

"I know you've been sitting there all day," He's not angry, just tired.

Prussia is annoyed, but still he's impressed by how well his little brother is handling his responsibilities as a Nation, especially when the neighbors are relying on him for so much. _He's grown so much in the last century alone_ , he thinks proudly as he saves his blog post as a draft.

Germany calls from downstairs, telling him to clear his dishes out of the sink and help get ready to eat.

—

"How've you been doing lately?" Germany asks at dinner.

"Better than ever." Prussia appreciates his brother's concern, but it can get tiring at times.

"I haven't seen much of you."

"You're the one who banned me from using the Internet, so I've been going out."

"Any place in particular?"

"The usual haunts. Park, library, museum, currywurst stand…why do you ask?"

Germany shifts in his seat. "Mr. Austria said to look out for you, that's all."

"That four-eyed geezer? Why does he care? He's not my _mother_."

Germany doesn't answer, but gathers up the empty plates without a word.

—-

' _Prussia_ ' is long gone, but he clings to the name, because names are important. Sometimes he thinks he should be more sad, but the everyday surprises keep him going.

Video camera suddenly on sale. Rainstorm erupts on a clear day. Ten frisky dogs all covered in brown spots waltz across the street barking and wagging their tails with joy. The surprises have no rhyme or reason, but they satisfy him in a way that no military victory ever has for him.

 _I'm becoming too_ _sentimental…_

He doesn't question why he's still alive, because living is good enough on its own.

—

The Chessmaster speaks:

 _Several of my friends were gunned down right in front of my eyes. I was young, but even then I was constantly aware that I, too, could be gone at any moment. When the war ended and I was still alive, I wondered–why me? Why did God spare me, and not the others? But now we see 'through a glass, darkly,' like Paul says. It may not be my place to know. The rest of my life may be short, but I don't want to live it in shadow of death, because I've already been there._

—

"If it isn't the ghost himself!" Hungary waltzes over with an ice-cream cone in one hand and in the other, the hand of a small child carrying too many shopping bags.

"Who's the kid?" they never bother with pleasantries; he's glad to see her and she knows it.

"Have you met Kugelmugel? Thought I'd get him out of his bubble for once. We just came back from the museum. Kugelchen, meet Prussia."

"Your reputation precedes you," says Kugelmugel.

"I guess I'm just famous." he grins, quickly ducking as Hungary attempts to swat his head with her museum program.

—

He still feels the occasional pangs of reverence, even if he doesn't pray as much as he did during his days as a Teutonic Knight.

And despite living in an age wary of crusaders, the eternal question remains: Can nations be damned, or on the flipside, saved?

If he still tenuously believes in heaven, it's because he desperately hopes that those who endured through the hellfire of history can truly rest. Life is hard, and so many find comfort in their faith, even now. Like the old Chessmaster said, it is better not to live in the shadow of death.

—

"We should hang out more, now that it's not illegal."

"Sounds fun! Maybe not too soon, though, I've been buried up to my eyes in paperwork for months. This is my first free weekend in weeks. How about you?"

"It's pretty chill. I walk the dogs, clean the house, chat up the neighbors, chase pigeons, ordinary things like that."

"You're a lively old man."

"Of course I am. I'm not dead. I'm _retired_. That's the word, right? When you're done with your job but still have life to live?"

Hungary finishes her cone thoughtfully. "That's one way of putting it."

—

One morning, he takes Berlitz for a walk. The doberman has the energy and attention span of a puppy, and Prussia struggles to keep him from chasing every single distraction that he sniffs out.

Despite his efforts, Berlitz bolts forward, dragging the leash out of his hand and running off the path onto the lawn. By the time Prussia catches up to him, he notices something caught in the big dog's sloppy jaws. He pries out a small yellowish item, and despite being dented with tooth-marks and covered with slobber, he recognizes the shape.

The old man's white king.


End file.
